


despite everything

by myrmidryad



Series: still (mostly) human [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, But they figure it out, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, M/M, Werewolf Grantaire, and the expressing of said feelings, half-veela!enjolras, werewolf!Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:22:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/pseuds/myrmidryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You could have died!” Enjolras snarled, following him as if magnetised. </p><p>Grantaire shrugged with his good shoulder. “Not such a loss.” </p><p>Enjolras slammed his fist into the wall and felt the plaster give way under it. He held Grantaire’s shocked gaze and growled. “It would be a loss.” <i>To me</i>, he added silently, barely keeping those two extra words behind his bared teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	despite everything

**Author's Note:**

> Title from, you guessed it, [Human](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbCeyb9okac) by Daughter. (Why yes, each of the fics in this series were titled from that song. Shut up.)

**Context** : the gang have graduated from Hogwarts and have continued with their activist group in a more official capacity. They still face a lot of opposition and have a lot of problems getting reliable data on the situations of the oppressed, and in many cases even contacting them. Grantaire is their only source of information when it comes to the werewolf community, and though he has a few contacts, sometimes the meetings can get dangerous. 

 

Enjolras was pacing restlessly back and forth when the door banged open and Grantaire swanned in. “Honey, I’m home.” 

Enjolras didn’t wait for the others to intercede before he stalked over and snarled, “Where the hell have you been?” Grantaire reeled back in surprise, and as Enjolras’ eyes flickered over his body, he saw the awkward way he was holding his arm and the dark stain on his robe. “What happened to you?” 

Grantaire recovered and jerked away, moving around Enjolras and into the room, ignoring Joly and Combeferre as they hovered nearby with their eyes on his injury. “I’m fine!” he protested. “They got lucky, that’s all.” 

 _They?_ “You knew there was going to be more than one?” Enjolras clenched his fists. 

Grantaire narrowed his eyes. “I handled it.” 

“You knew, you _knew_ there was going to be more than one and you still went in there on your own?” He was practically vibrating with rage now, tension and fear from the last few hours finally bubbling over, and he didn’t notice the way everyone else had fallen silent around them. 

Grantaire stepped away from Joly’s tentatively outstretched hand and glared at him. “I can take care of myself. I’m not a child.” 

“You know who else can take care of themselves?” Enjolras asked furiously. “Jehan! Feuilly! Courfeyrac!” 

“Can you leave us out of this please?” Feuilly asked weakly. Enjolras ignored him. 

“They still know to ask for backup when they need it, and to back out of a situation if they’re outnumbered!” 

Grantaire rolled his eyes, going over to the table. “Oh come on! What’s the worst that could’ve happened?” 

“You could have _died!_ ” Enjolras snarled, following him as if magnetised. 

Grantaire shrugged with his good shoulder. “Not such a loss.” 

Enjolras slammed his fist into the wall and felt the plaster give way under it. He held Grantaire’s shocked gaze and growled. “It would be a loss.” _To me_ , he added silently, barely keeping those two extra words behind his bared teeth. 

There was a moment of silence, and then Combeferre said, “Enjolras.” 

Enjolras looked at his hand, embedded in the wall, and saw that it was smoking slightly. He was almost too angry to be embarrassed, but he pulled his hand back and closed his eyes for a moment anyway, flexing his hot fingers and willing himself to calm down. Bits of plaster and wood fell to the ground, and he realised he’d actually managed to crack the stone behind them. “I’ll be outside,” he muttered, turning without looking at Grantaire and going quickly to the door. The others moved to get out of his way, and he hated himself for inspiring that wariness in them. 

Outside on the rickety little balcony overlooking the back lanes of Diagon Alley and Muggle London beyond, Enjolras walked to the end to press his hands over his face and take several deep breaths. What was wrong with him? He’d kept his feelings for Grantaire pushed down for ages, why was he losing control now? And in front of everyone else as well. How could he have been so stupid? 

He sighed heavily and crossed his arms, opening his eyes and tilting his head back. No stars were visible, but the moon was there, small and pale in the darkness. Such a tiny thing, when looked at from a distance. Such a tiny thing to have such a huge influence over people’s lives. 

The door opened at the other end of the balcony, and the wood creaked as someone came out. “Waxing moon,” Grantaire said, walking down to stand next to Enjolras as though he hadn’t just put a dent the size of a child’s head in a wall with his bare hand. “One week and four days till it’s full.” 

“I know,” Enjolras said quietly, not looking at him. 

“Of course you do.” Grantaire sighed, turning to lean into the corner of the railings and facing him properly. “Look, I’ll take backup next time I know I’ll be outnumbered. Will that make you happy?” 

“Ecstatic,” Enjolras snapped. He saw Grantaire move to leave out of the corner of his eye and sighed, angry at himself now. “Sorry,” he bit out, and quieter, “sorry.” Grantaire stayed, and Enjolras looked down at the empty lane below them. “You just make me so angry sometimes.” 

“I’ve noticed.” Grantaire sounded more amused than irate, Enjolras noticed with some relief. “Don’t worry, I don’t take it personally.” 

Enjolras finally looked at him, surprised. “You don’t?” 

Grantaire shrugged. “I figured it’s just the Veela in you reacting badly to the wolf in me.” Enjolras’ jaw dropped slightly, and Grantaire frowned, suddenly uncertain. “No? You’ve got a better theory?” 

“Well I can disprove _yours_ ,” Enjolras snorted, finding his voice and clamping down on the urge to laugh. “That’s _ridiculous_.” 

“Why?” Grantaire challenged, crossing his arms in imitation of Enjolras, who unconsciously uncrossed his. 

“Well firstly, you’re not a wolf all the time.” 

“Yes I am,” Grantaire smiled humourlessly. “It’s in me twenty-four seven.” 

“No, but you…” Enjolras frowned, taking a moment to find the right words. “I can only _tell_ you’re a werewolf for about one or two days before and after the full moon. The rest of the time, as far as my ‘extra senses’ are concerned, you’re as human as everyone else.” 

Grantaire looked torn between being freaked out and pleased. “You can _tell_ when I’m about to turn?” 

“Only now I know you,” Enjolras said. “I don’t know if I could tell if anyone else was a werewolf. The wolf isn’t the problem,” he said to the railing, frustrated. “ _You’re_ the problem.” He only realised as he said it how it sounded, and when he looked at Grantaire, something unpleasant twisted inside him at the flash of hurt Grantaire quickly concealed with a tight smile. 

“I get it,” he said quietly, pushing off from the railing and making for the door. Enjolras hurried to overtake him. 

“Wait, wait, Grantaire, I didn’t mean to say it like that, it came out wrong, wait!” He managed to slip between Grantaire and the door, blocking the way. “Wait, please, I’m sorry. Let me explain.” 

Grantaire gave him an unimpressed look. “What’s to explain?” 

Enjolras deflated, balking at the idea of telling Grantaire the truth. But he couldn’t let Grantaire think he hated him. “I…when I say you’re the problem, I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he said lamely. He absolutely deserved Grantaire’s look of scorn for that, and he knew it. 

“Right,” Grantaire raised an eyebrow, voice heavy with sarcasm. “You meant problem in a _good_ way.” 

Enjolras sighed and dropped his eyes, looking at his fingers curled around the railing. “I just meant,” he said slowly, “that…I worry about you.” He looked up as Grantaire backed away, shaking his head. Enjolras wanted to curse himself – he couldn’t say anything right today, it seemed. 

“You worry.” Grantaire’s eyes were narrow, his hands balled into fists. “Yeah. You worry about losing my contacts, and my ability to defend myself.” 

“No!” Enjolras protested angrily, stepping forward. “Your contacts have nothing to do with it! And I know you can defend yourself. It’s _you_ I don’t want to lose. I care about losing you.” 

Grantaire frowned. “I don’t understand.” 

Enjolras walked past him to the end of the balcony again and glared down at the lane below. “It’s got nothing to do with the wolf,” he said in clipped tones. “It’s not the Veela in me reacting to the werewolf in you; it’s just me reacting to you. It’s just you.” He gripped the railing and carefully didn’t squeeze too hard. “You have a strong effect on me because…I’m too emotionally involved.” He could barely say it, the words almost too quiet for Grantaire to hear. _Almost_ , because the last thing he wanted to do was repeat himself. 

Grantaire came closer, keeping to the edge of the railing as Enjolras had kept to the wall. “What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?” Enjolras snapped, regretting his tone the second the words were out of his mouth. He had to let go of the railing and clench his fists instead, not wanting to accidentally crush the wood (and get splinters in his hands). 

Grantaire’s next words were quiet, unsure. “Is this a joke?” 

Enjolras was burning up with embarrassment, sure his face was bright pink. “Why would I play a joke on myself?” he asked tightly. 

“How is the joke on you?” Grantaire asked. 

Enjolras lifted his head up to glare at him. “Please, point out the other idiot spilling their guts and humiliating themselves on a balcony in the middle of the night.” His tone was acidic, and he stepped back from the rail and looked back down, yet again regretting his harsh tongue. “Sorry,” he said quietly, when Grantaire didn’t speak. “I don’t think I’ve managed to say a single thing right tonight.” 

“What do you mean by ‘emotionally involved’?” Grantaire asked after a moment, almost whispering. “You mean you like me?” 

If only his entire body was combustible, not just his hands. “As more than a friend,” Enjolras muttered, “yes.” 

“And you…” Grantaire’s voice was faint. “You don’t lie.” 

“Not to my friends.” 

“And I’m your friend.” The question mark was hidden beneath the statement, but Enjolras could still hear it, and he had to restrain the urge to put his fist through the wall again. 

“Yes, alright?” he snapped. “You’re my friend, I’m not lying, and I like you. Can you stop now?” 

“But why didn’t you say anything before?” Grantaire sounded strange, but Enjolras couldn’t bring himself to look at his face – he was too embarrassed to meet Grantaire’s eyes right now. 

“Because I didn’t want to make things more uncomfortable than they already are,” he said tightly. “We can just pretend this never happened. Go back inside and just forget it, alright?” 

“Forget it?” Grantaire repeated disbelievingly. “Are you serious?” 

“What do you _want_ from me?” Enjolras cried, turning to face him and losing whatever he was going to say next as Grantaire stepped forward and put one hand on Enjolras’ hip and the other on his arm. 

“Hex me if I’ve got this wrong,” he whispered, looking slightly terrified, and Enjolras didn’t have time to even think before Grantaire was kissing him. 

Grantaire was _kissing_ him. 

Something warm and wonderful uncurled in the pit of his stomach, and Enjolras closed his eyes and kissed Grantaire back fiercely, falling back against the wall and pulling Grantaire with him with an arm slipped round his waist, his other hand flying up to cup the back of Grantaire’s head and hold him close. 

The jolt of his shoulder blades hitting the wall broke them apart for a second, and Enjolras took the opportunity to gasp, “You?” 

“For ages.” Grantaire kissed him again, shifting closer so they were pressed together from their chests to their knees. Enjolras had never been kissed like this before. He’d never _wanted_ to be kissed like this before. “Years,” Grantaire muttered, breaking away for a second to bring a hand up between them and touch Enjolras’ temple, sliding fingertips into his hair as if not quite sure whether he was allowed. 

“ _Years?_ ” Enjolras repeated, staring down at him. “Why didn’t you _say_ anything?” 

“Because I’m a coward with extremely low self-esteem, and I’m sorry.” Grantaire’s other hand clutched the side of Enjolras’ robes. “Kiss me again?” 

He’d be angry later, Enjolras decided, obligingly fitting their mouths together and tightening his grip around Grantaire’s back, holding him as close as possible while his other hand slid down through Grantaire’s curls to trace the line of his jaw, ending up pressed against his neck, pulse point thudding against the base of his thumb. Grantaire seemed to find courage from somewhere and pushed his hand properly into Enjolras’ hair, curling his fingers so the nails scraped slightly against Enjolras’ scalp and that felt _good_. 

On some half-known instinct, Enjolras held Grantaire in place as he pushed against him, arching his hips and sucking just a little on Grantaire’s lower lip. Grantaire made a sound in response – a sort of wounded gasp that sent Enjolras’ rational mind spiralling off who-knew-where as he opened his mouth and pressed his thumb against the sharp curve of Grantaire’s jaw, stubble prickling under the pad and against his lips and chin. 

He’d never wanted anything so much. Everything was Grantaire now, the world narrowed down to just them, just him. _This_ was desire, he realised distantly, mostly occupied with registering the heat and weight of Grantaire’s body on his, Grantaire’s hands in his hair and now under his robe, having pulled it open at the front and gotten his hand inside, almost under Enjolras’ shirt where it could press against the bare skin of his side and set him alight. This was desire – a craving for more and more and _more_ , for this to never end, for neither of them to ever stop. 

He wanted there to be no clothes, no layers at all between them. He wanted Grantaire’s full attention on him, just like this, just the two of them. He wanted Grantaire desperate and wrecked, himself held down and pinned, his mouth everywhere Grantaire would let him, Grantaire’s hands everywhere he could bear without burning alive, if he didn’t burn up before they could get there. 

Grantaire’s teeth closed on the flesh of his lower lip and _tugged_ , and Enjolras was sure he was going to go up in flames at any moment when the door opened suddenly and there was a very loud gasp. 

Grantaire pulled away, and without his mouth on Enjolras’, his mind was suddenly a lot clearer. Clear enough to yank his wand from his robe with the hand that had been on Grantaire’s neck and point it at Bossuet, silencing him instantly. Bossuet let the door close behind him, eyes wide and mouth even wider, taking in the scene with what was quickly becoming delight. 

Enjolras levelled his wand and did his best to sound threatening while refusing to let go of Grantaire’s waist. “There are people sleeping in the buildings around us,” he said evenly. “We’ve already been warned that if we’re going to hold meetings after hours, we need to be quiet. When I lift the charm, you will _not_ scream. Alright?” 

Bossuet closed his mouth and nodded quickly, clasping his hands together and grinning. Enjolras pursed his lips and lowered his wand. Bossuet made a squeaking sound and held his hands over his mouth for a moment before he managed to control himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Is this a thing?” he hissed, gesturing at them. “Is this a thing that’s happening now?” 

Enjolras hesitated and loosened his grip on Grantaire so he could look at him properly. Grantaire’s lips were wet, and he swallowed and licked them when Enjolras met his eyes. “Up to you,” he whispered. 

Extremely low self-esteem, Enjolras reminded himself, and looked back at Bossuet. “Yes,” he said firmly, and felt Grantaire’s shaky exhale against his own chest. 

Bossuet made another squeaking sound and dashed back inside without another word. Enjolras kept looking at the door, and couldn’t help a breathless laugh when a moment later there was an explosion of noise from inside – screams and shouts and a couple of cheers. Grantaire put his head against his shoulder and snorted, and Enjolras turned his face so he could feel Grantaire’s hair on his cheek. “Your arm,” he remembered suddenly, seeing the dark stain on Grantaire’s sleeve. 

“Can you fix it?” Grantaire asked, pulling back slightly to look at him. Enjolras hesitated. 

“Is it bad?” 

“Nah, just a scratch.” 

“I have some essence of dittany in my flat?” 

“That’ll do the trick.” Grantaire swallowed, and Enjolras felt his fingers spasm against his side, just a layer of clothing separating skin from skin. “Is this happening then?” he asked quietly. “We’re doing this?” 

“If you’re alright with that,” Enjolras said, absurdly nervous for a moment. 

Grantaire smiled, disbelieving and crooked, and Enjolras couldn’t help dipping down and kissing him, gently this time, just pressing their lips together for three long seconds. Grantaire kept his eyes closed for a moment when Enjolras pulled away, and when he opened them his smile was happier. “I’m alright with that,” he whispered, and Enjolras felt like something was expanding in his chest, making it difficult to breathe properly. 

He kissed Grantaire again because he didn’t think he could form words at that point (possibly a first), and only stopped when he recovered himself a little. “My flat?” he murmured, leaning his forehead against Grantaire’s. 

“Mmhm.” When Enjolras finally released him, Grantaire darted in and kissed his cheek, looking almost surprised at his own daring. Enjolras grinned and kissed his in return just to see him smile. 

The others would hear the pop of them apparating away – they didn’t need to say goodbye. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote these three parts in about two days because random flashes of inspiration are apparently things that happen sometimes, so there probably won't be any more, but should I do a porny epilogue? Is that a thing I should do?
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please consider [buying me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A221HQ9) <3


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